


la douleur exquise ('tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all)

by chocolatecrack



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Flowers, Hanahaki AU, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mutually Unrequited, Romance, TRIGGER WARNING: Vomiting, Vomiting, brief mentions of the other members of Hey! Say! JUMP, trigger warning: blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 04:04:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15941411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatecrack/pseuds/chocolatecrack
Summary: Death by flowers. How morbidly beautiful. Yamada had never felt so…mortal. All because of forget-me-nots. Light blue flowers that taste sweet—too sweet—and blood. His blood. Mixed in with the forget-me-nots like a gory display of painful beauty, reminding him of what had just happened and what it really meant.That he was in love with Nakajima Yuto.And that Nakajima Yuto, unfortunately, didn’t love him back.





	la douleur exquise ('tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aisu_Inoue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisu_Inoue/gifts).



> Dear recipient,
> 
> I saw your request for something japanese legend-y, and I will be honest with you: I had a completely different fic before this one. It dealt with the Tanabata legend and the red string of fate. I worked on that for weeks, trying my best to build up that universe.
> 
> But when I read your request again, and saw your second one (the one asking for a story of someone who had a disease), this fic that I wrote below hit me like a ton of bricks. I wrote this on a whim, but I hope it still depicts what I wanted to.
> 
> I don't know if you're familiar with it, so I'm just going to explain it anyway. It's called the Hanahaki disease. I researched on it, and this is what I got: Hanahaki Disease is a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear.
> 
> And goddamn, how painfully beautiful is that?
> 
> So I put Yuto and Yamada in that type of setting. Japanese legend x someone with a disease.
> 
> I put a piece of my heart into this work, as I have gone through something recently regarding unrequited love and...yea. So I really hope you appreciate it. And I am hoping to everything that you like it :)
> 
> I do apologize if it felt a bit rushed though. I really wanted to build up on it more. But I'm still pretty satisfied with how it came out. I hope you are too :)
> 
> \--Author

You made flowers grow in my lungs  
And although they are beautiful  
_I can’t breathe_

* * *

 

Forget me nots, forget me nots. Forget me? Not.

The little blue flowers have always looked so beautiful. Yamada had been attracted to them since he was a child. 5 years old, seeing them grow near their house in Tokyo, quite rarely blooming during Spring. He’d pick a few stems, his Mom scolding him and telling him he shouldn’t do that. With a question of why, his Mother answers, “Because we don’t pick the most beautiful flowers, honey. That way, they get to live, breathe and grow. And we get to admire their beauty. Even just from afar, even though we can’t have them.”

His Mother had told him not to pick the most beautiful flowers.

Yamada never did listen.

He sits on his bathroom floor, sick to his stomach, smear of blood on the side of his lips, deep red. He tastes iron on his tongue, and it makes him want to vomit again, to get rid of it. To get rid of the fact that he was sick and tired of tasting blood. Except.

Forget me nots were always so beautiful. But not like this. Not when they were floating in water, mixed in with his blood, inside his disgusting toilet, ready to be flushed and, ironically, forgotten. They taste of something sweet, saccharine even, and Yamada would’ve enjoyed that taste if they weren’t mixed in with the taste of his blood. And if not for the fact that they were slowly, but surely, inching him closer to his death.

“Yama-chan?” he hears the faint sound of someone calling out to him from outside his bathroom. A voice that belongs to someone who had keys to his dorm room, someone who doesn’t know how to knock, or to respect personal space. Not that it really mattered to Yamada, because he knows who that someone is. He will always know who that voice belonged to.

He hurriedly flushes the toilet, grabs a handful of tissue to wipe at any and all evidence he could see, wipes at his own goddamn mouth and gurgle on mouthwash for good measure. He couldn’t be seen like this. Especially not by this person.

“Yama-chan, where are you? I’m letting myself in,” the person calls out again, and Yamada curses under his breath to make sure he looks decent, at least. “Are you in the kitchen?”

“Uhm, I’m just in the bathroom,” Yamada responds, mentally slapping himself for telling where he was, hearing footsteps walk towards his location. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says out loud when he spots a blood stain on the collar of his shirt, immediately removing it and throwing it in a hamper. There were three knocks to his bathroom door, and his heart almost jumps out of his chest.

“Is everything okay?” Yuto asks from the other side of the door.

“Yea, just…” Yamada tries to take a deep breath, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He looks in the mirror, like a goddamn mess, shirtless, eyes tired, hands clammy, _broken_. To hell with it. He’ll think of some stupid excuse. So he splashes water on his face, takes a deep breath, and slowly opens his bathroom door, grabbing onto a face towel for show.

The bathroom door opens, and he’s greeted by bright eyes, jet-black hair, and a wide smile.

Yuto. _His_ Yuto. Beautiful, unbelievable, extraordinary.

_We don’t pick the most beautiful flowers, honey. But we get to admire their beauty_.

The tall boy steps closer to him, an extremely worried look on his face. “Are you okay?” he says with a voice that sends shivers down Yamada’s spine.

_Even just from afar_.

Instantly, he feels a fluttering feeling climbing up his throat. Like flower petals raging, wanting to break free from the confines of his chest. Yamada tries to ignore it, to take deep breaths and swallow the feeling down. But it combines with a faint taste of iron, the taste of his blood, and a look of panic surges across his features.

Yuto seemed to have picked up on it.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong??” he tries to step closer, but Yamada slams the door in his face unintentionally. Because he must not know. He _can’t_. At least not like this.

_Even though we can’t have them_.

A fresh batch of forget-me-nots regurgitate and escape his mouth, pooling with his blood, and Yamada is thankful he had made it to the toilet just in time. This was already bad enough as it is. He didn’t want to clean up a goddamn mess after.

Yuto’s fists pound on his bathroom door, a concerned tone laced in with his words, “Ryosuke, what’s happening???” he demands to know, and the way he had said Yamada’s name, his _first_ name, made the older boy vomit another batch of dainty blue flowers.

_Yuto, please_. Yamada thinks to himself, too exhausted to actually say the words out loud. _Stop._

“I-I’m—” Yamada spits out some petals stuck on his teeth, light blue mixed in the blood red. “I’m okay. I-I think I ate something bad,” he stutters, trying his best to keep his head level.

Yuto was smart enough to know that wasn’t it.

“You’ve been sick for two weeks. I don’t think that’s it,”

_Ugh_.

About two weeks ago was when it started. About two weeks ago was when things changed.

About two weeks ago was when he realized that he felt a little too much for the stupid boy who was currently knocking on his bathroom door.

And about two weeks ago was when he figured out that the boy didn’t feel the same.

* * *

 

They were working on assignments, then. Some math problem that Yuto was having a little difficulty with, and he kept on saying Yamada was a distraction.

“Me? You blame _me_?”

“You are _so_ pretty,” the taller boy says out loud, a smirk on his lips, “How am I supposed to know the value of x if you’re sitting there looking as pretty as you are?”

Yamada has a blank look on his face, but he couldn’t hide the blush from his cheeks, “Is that honestly the best you got?”

“What?”

“That is the corniest, come on Nakajima, we both know you can do better than that,” Yamada chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Okay, cut me some slack, we all have our moments,”

“Well, at this very moment, you are currently having difficulty with Basic Algebra. How are you supposed to graduate University?”

“Algebra isn’t even needed in my course! Jesus,”

Yamada rolls his eyes, “Okay Mr. hotshot Photographer, Algebra isn’t needed in the Culinary Arts either, but look at me still trying to survive it.”

“Because you’re smarter than me,”

“No, I just work harder,”

“I’m not cut-out for Math,”

“You said that about History and Science too. Freshman year. Which is also the year you could’ve finished this subject if you didn’t just drop it and convince me to drop it as well,”

“I wanted us to take it together,”

“Or you wanted to ignore it and pretend it was going to magically vanish from the curriculum?”

“Ouch Yama-chan, I feel so attacked right now,” Yuto feigns hurt, and it was so adorable Yamada couldn’t help but laugh. So the both of them end up laughing after, and the beautiful sound graces Yamada’s ears like a familiar hello.

They stare at each other then, when the laughter dies down a little, and Yuto bites on his bottom lip while looking at Yamada’s, so the older boy tears his gaze away and looks at the pages of his book.

“Seriously, Yutti, we have to focus. I’m not gonna let Algebra be the reason why we don’t graduate,” he tries to keep his voice from cracking, clearing his throat, noticing it feeling a little scratchier than usual.

“But Yama-chaaaaaaan,” Yuto whines, lying down on his stomach, his face on his palms. He looks at Yamada with a pleading expression evident in his eyes, “Short break? Please?”

The older boy narrows his own eyes, “Is this one of those short breaks that turn into hour long breaks?”

Yuto shakes his head adorably and maybe it kinda helped with the convincing, “No, it really will be a short break. I promise.”

Sighing, Yamada caves, closing his Algebra book and setting their school work aside, “ _Fine_ ,” he agrees, Yuto’s eyes lighting up, “Only because I’m tired too.”

Yuto celebrates by grabbing the older boy by the wrist, dragging him towards the bed, “Nap time.”

“Yuto—”

“Power nap, Yama, we can sleep for like 30 minutes and then get back to work after. I’ll even set an alarm. I swear,” he twiddles with his phone on one hand, setting an alarm for 4:30pm. “See?”

And Yamada really was feeling a bit sleepy, so he just went with it.

Yuto makes them both lie down on the bed, settling behind Yamada as he wraps his arms around the older boy’s waist and takes a deep breath, relaxing.

Heart pounding, Yamada tries to to talk, “Yuto—” but Yuto only tightens his hold on him, determined to keep the position.

“I like when we sleep like this, it’s nice,” the taller boy is comfortable, too comfortable, and Yamada was going to lie if he said he didn’t agree. It really did feel nice. And it was a normal thing for them anyway, too close of a friendship to care about personal space. “You smell really good.”

But his heart was beating too fast, the scratchiness in his throat was increasing and he didn’t even know why. He tries to calm himself, settle himself in Yuto’s hold, resting his arm on top of the arm embracing him. The scratchiness dies down a little, clearing his throat to hopefully completely get rid of it.

But then.

Yuto speaks, his voice a baritone lower than usual.

“I wish we could stay like this, Ryosuke,”

Ryosuke, Ryosuke, _Ryosuke_.

He realizes how much he wanted that too.

The scratchiness is back in Yamada’s throat, and this time, it has increased in intensity, full blown. He wanted to ignore it, leave it alone, but it was _too much_ and it was then that he realized this familiar feeling. Like when he was sick from something. So he forces himself out of Yuto’s hold, running towards his bathroom.

“Ryosuke? Hey, what’s happening??”

Yuto says it again, and Yamada couldn’t breathe, there was something lodged in his throat, and _no, no, no, this is not happening_.

He slams his bathroom door shut, mind sane enough to lock it. The taller boy pounds on his bathroom door, calling out to him, worried. But Yamada ignores him, kneeling down in front of his toilet, his mouth tasting of iron and…something sweet.

A moment later, when he had vomited an immense amount, he realized what they were. The tears fall from his face, then, knowing what they meant.

Forget-me-nots.

Light blue flowers that taste sweet— _too sweet_ —and blood. His blood. Mixed in with the forget-me-nots like a gory display of painful beauty, reminding him of what had just happened and what it really meant.

That he was in love with Nakajima Yuto.

And that Nakajima Yuto, unfortunately, didn’t love him back.

* * *

 

I tried to forget  
But you grew roots around my ribcage  
And sprouted flowers  
Just below my collarbones  
All day I pluck their petals  
But I have not yet ascertained  
Whether you love me  
_Or not_

 

* * *

 

“So, remind me why we’re baking cookies again?”

Rummaging through his dorm’s kitchen cabinet, Yamada questions as to why Yuto suddenly and very much randomly entered his dorm room, ingredients for chocolate chip cookies in tow. Yamada was comfortably sitting on his couch, busy reading up theories on his next assignment, when the taller boy had barged into his dorm, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him towards the kitchen.

“Because you’ve been sick for three days, Yama-chan, and chocolate chip cookies are an instant cheer up. I would’ve suggested strawberry shortcakes but strawberries are expensive this time of the year,”

_Been sick for three days_ got Yamada remembering just exactly _why_ he was sick, gulping down a rising feeling in his throat, the taste of flowers clouding his system. Thankfully, he was able to prevent another throw up.

Yuto grabs hold of the older boy’s infamous lucky apron, locating an extra one for himself. He puts his own on, then walks towards Yamada, standing behind him. “Now, let’s put this on you,” and Yamada is too flustered to react properly, Yuto tying up the apron behind him, whisper of his voice tickling Yamada’s ears “And there. We’re ready to bake!”

Yamada gulps down petals again, and _fuck_ , did it feel painful. His chest closes in on itself, but he takes numerous deep breaths to prevent it from collapsing completely.

“T-thanks, Yutti,”

“Do you feel sick again?” Yuto asks worriedly, hears the stutter in the older boy’s voice.

“No, no, just…” but he does, he feels the petals climbing up his throat, “E-Excuse me for a minute,” he turns around and looks at Yuto straight in the eyes, giving him a weak smile to hopefully reassure him he’s fine, “I-I’ll be right back, okay?”

Yuto nods slowly, wanting to follow Yamada, but deciding not to, lest he gets kicked out again. Like three days ago, when Yamada first got sick. The older boy had told him to leave, that he’ll be okay. When he had insisted on staying, Yamada yelled at him to get out, and he had no choice but to follow, despite not understanding what had just happened. He decides against doing that again.

“I’ll be here,” Yuto says, giving Yamada’s hand a gentle squeeze for comfort. The action makes the flowers in Yamada’s throat multiply, leaving Yuto in his kitchen as he races towards his bathroom.

Throwing up Forget-me-nots wasn’t actually the worst of it, if he was going to be honest. The blood that come with it isn’t so bad either, if he actually weighed on the extremity of it.

It was…the eventual ending.

He had asked Chinen for help when it had first happened. Wanting to know more about the why and the how of what had just happened. But when Chinen didn’t have an exact idea what to answer, the younger boy had directed him towards Hikaru. Whom explained the unfortunate disease he had acquired.

_“It’s unavoidable,”_

_“But is there a cure for it?”_

_“There is. Only, you wouldn’t like it,”_

_“Why not?”_

_“Because it’s worse than dying,”_

Dying.

Apparently, whatever the fuck he had eventually led to dying. Death by flowers. How morbidly beautiful. Yamada had never felt so… _mortal_.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he curses, remembering the conversation. “This is unbelievable,” he whispers under his breath, leaning his head on the tiled bathroom wall, tears threatening to fall from tired eyes.

Because what could be worse than dying? How can someone actually die from a broken heart? How can anything be worse than dying because someone you love didn’t love you back?

Except, of course, there really was something worse. They had told him that if he had wanted the flowers and blood to stop, he could have it surgically moved. Cured from the disease forever. Problem infinitely solved. But there was a catch, of course. Because there was always a goddamn catch.

It meant giving up your feelings for that person. Forgetting about them. Possibly losing the ability to even so much as love.

And, to hell with that. Yamada wasn’t ready to lose Yuto. Not now, not ever. He’d rather lose himself, even if it was painful. Such is the martyr’s way, after all.

“ _Why did I have to love him?_ ” he whispers onto the atmosphere, soft voice bouncing off the bathroom walls, a haunting melody that makes him want to cry. He hopes Yuto wasn’t listening from the other side of the door.

And then there were the more painful questions.

_Why doesn’t he love me back?_

* * *

 

A week and a half had passed since the incident, and Yamada tried to avoid Yuto like the plague. But the taller boy was persistent, and stubborn, and he didn’t let Yamada affect him, no matter how much the older boy had tried to push him away.

After a while, Yamada had finally given up trying, caving when Yuto sat next to him during lunch, the taller boy bringing him a slice of his favorite strawberry cake.

“You’re horrible. I hate you so much,” he tried to sound convincing, but Yuto could see the corners of his lips turning up.

“Oh please, you love me,”

Yamada gulped down a taste of flowers and blood, “So it’s come to this, huh? You bribing me with strawberry cake?”

“You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily, Yamada-san. I’m too strong willed to be swayed by your ignoring of my texts and calls and your so-called busy schedule,”

“Why can’t you take a hint?”

“Hint being: ‘I’m trying to protect you from whatever it is that made me sick, Yuto’, except I really don’t care if it’s all that contagious,”

“It’s not, but it’s still bad,”

“If it’s not, then I don’t care. I miss my best friend. And I don’t like him avoiding me,”

“So now you’re being forceful?” Yamada tries.

Yuto laughs out loud, the sound surrounding Yamada like a wanted embrace. Yuto’s laugh was always so beautiful. Hell, his entire self was beautiful. The most beautiful thing Yamada had ever had the chance to witness.

“You know, you being stubborn will be the death of me one day,” Yamada sees Yuto struggle slightly, the taller boy gulping suddenly and it was the weirdest thing. Because…

“Hey, are you—”

“But you being stubborn means you’re back to treating me the same way. So, _hallelujah_ , I got my best friend back!”

Yuto celebrates with a fist pump, almost stepping up the table to stand on top of it had Yamada not prevented him from doing so.

“Okay, okay, can we not get carried away here?” Yamada tries to scold, but the smile on his face says different. Yuto just moves closer to him, placing his hands on the back of the chair he was sitting on, his chin leaning on top them.

“Can I ask you something, though?”

Yamada nods his head, “What is it?”

“Why do you always go to the bathroom when we’re together?”

Suddenly taken aback by Yuto’s question, Yamada sits up fully, trying to calm himself lest Yuto’s words trigger something.

“I told you, I was sick and—”

“No, I know _that_ ,” Yuto says, laughing slightly, albeit it not sounding genuine. To Yamada, at least, “I just meant...Yabu and I talked recently.”

“Oh? And?”

“He mentioned that you guys hung out. For a long time. And I was curious enough to ask him if you did the same when you guys were together,”

_Oh, shit_.

“And he said no,”

Yamada could feel the forget-me-nots. And _no, no, no, this isn’t the time for this_.

“So I was thinking you only did it when you were with me. And I just had to know why. If it’s—”

Yamada stands up abruptly, desperately locating the nearest exit. He had to get out, now. Leave Yuto’s presence. Find a way to calm himself, lest he gets caught. Never mind if someone else sees him throwing up the flowers. Anyone but Yuto.

“Hey, Ryosuke, what’s wrong??”

“I-I have to go,”

“Was it something I said or—”

_It’s not._

“No, I just really have to—”

_It’s not something you said._

“I’m so sorry—”

_It’s you, Yuto._

“I’ll go with you—”

“ _No_ ,” Yamada says firmly, although accidentally. But the heartbreaking, _betrayed_ look on Yuto’s face makes his own heart shatter. And he knows he did something wrong. “I have to go. I’ll…call you later okay? I’m sorry.”

And then Yamada runs away.

From Yuto. His own feelings. And the truth.

* * *

 

Roses are red, roses are red most of the time  
There’s love in my heart, there’s love in my heart knowing you’re mine  
_There’s no way out, there’s no way out of this mess_

 

* * *

 

So now, here they were. Two weeks later, Yamada puking forget-me-nots and blood into his toilet, an ache in his chest almost unbearable.

“What is going on?” Yuto asks from the other side of the door, worry clouding his voice.

Yamada just wants it all to go away. The flowers, the blood, the feelings. The hurt. He was tired. _So tired_.

“Ryosuke, I have to know,”

_Shut up._

“You have to tell me,”

_Shut up, shut up, shut up_.

“Come on, Ryosuke, I just—”

“Shut up!!!!”

Yamada yells. He knows this was going to hurt Yuto. And that this was going to hurt himself even more. But he needed to do this, Yuto needed to hear this. And he couldn’t stop his mouth from running itself, anymore. He was exhausted and done and it was just so _painful_ , Yamada has had _enough_.

“Get out of my dorm, Yuto,”

“Ryosuke—” Yuto says from the other side of the bathroom door, sounding defeated and hurt. But Yamada doesn’t give him the chance to talk, lest he changes his mind.

This was for his own good. The sooner Yamada does this to him, the better.

“Leave me alone. I don’t want you around me anymore. I’ve had enough of you,”

“But…” Yamada hears Yuto choke on a sob, and one of his heartstrings break. But he tries to muster up all the anger he could get his hands on.

“This is _your_ fault,” the words felt like liquid acid on his tongue, “You caused this. You’re to blame for all of this suffering I’ve been going through. If you hadn’t just did what you did, things would still be okay. But you just had to go and be the beautiful boy that you are, breaking hearts like you do. You just had to be _you_. There was nothing worse that you could’ve done.”

He wanted to cry so much, because lying to Yuto hurt even more than throwing up forget-me-nots in big numbers. Nothing hurt more than this.

“And now _this_ is happening to me, and you only have yourself to blame,”

This was it.

The final nail to coffin.

“I wish we had never even met,”

Yamada hears a breath hitch on the other side of his bathroom door. He hears a cry, and after a while, a strong punch to the door. It was moments later when he heard footsteps, walking away from his location, sound fading into the distance.

But before that.

“Goodbye, Ryosuke,”

The worst part about loving Yuto wasn’t the forget-me-nots that came with it. It was the fact that Yamada couldn’t stop himself from feeling the way he felt, no matter how hard he tried.

He had expected to be left alone, so now he was. No Yuto with him.

All that’s left was a pile of light blue flowers coated in a thin layer of his blood, floating in murky water as his heart breaks in all the worst ways he could imagine.

* * *

 

A week. Two weeks.  A full month.

Yamada hasn’t coughed up forget-me-nots as much, since then. Just occasionally, at night, when his mind travels to a dangerous place of smiles and laughter and beautiful eyes. The pain of throwing up had lessened.

But the heartbreak had increased a great amount.

He couldn’t exactly avoid Yuto completely. Not when they had Basic Algebra together two times a week, Yuto sitting all the way at the back, as compared to their usual spot in a corner of the room. Yamada had looked away every time the boy was in his presence, afraid light blue flowers were going to regurgitate up his throat and reveal the very thing he broke his own heart for, just to be able to hide it. He wasn’t sure if he should be thankful or hurt that Yuto was cooperating. Avoiding him, all the same.

Because he knows he broke Yuto’s heart. And he knows he’s not going to be able to mend it.

A day after what had happened, Yamada had skipped school. Too weak to even get up from his bed. He was going to skip the next day as well, had Inoo and Daiki not drag him from his dorm to push him to his classes.

Some semblance of normalcy had returned to his life after that one month. That was until he had found out from Takaki that Yuto was skipping school for a full week, saying something about being too sick to even move.

Yamada shouldn’t even care. He shouldn’t worry. And he knows he was to blame for that, even though just partially. Because Yuto had just wanted to know what was happening with him. Why he was acting the way that he did.

But how do you tell your best friend that you were in love with them? That you have been throwing up flowers and blood because that they didn’t felt the same way?

He sits in his dorm room that night, crying his eyes out for the nth time. Because, of all the _goddamn people_ he could’ve chosen to fall in love with, it had to be Nakajima Yuto.

“You’re so stupid,” he says to himself, hand balled up into a fist, “You’re so _stupid_ , Ryosuke. _Fuck_.”

His Mother had warned him about picking beautiful flowers. So why had he chosen to pick the most beautiful flower? The one that could very much break his heart?

He thinks to himself. Hard. And thoroughly.

And he wonders that maybe he had had enough. Of this, of everything. Of trying to avoid Yuto, of trying to convince him that he was angry, of trying to convince himself that it was Yuto at fault. The forget-me-nots were going to kill him, eventually.

It wasn’t that much of a risk to speed up the process.

* * *

 

Loving you  
Was the most exquisite form  
_Of self-destruction_

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t know why he was here.

Yamada knows this was a bad idea, that this wasn’t going to do him, or Yuto, or the both of them any good. That, after a month of this mess, this was only going to make it even messier. That this was going to inevitably destroy their friendship—if it had still existed—and break his heart into a million tiny pieces.

But he couldn’t take hiding anymore. He couldn’t take all the hiding and lying and deceit. Not anymore. Especially not to Yuto. He was too important of a person and he deserved to know this even if…

Even if it would cause what it would cause. A flashback plays in his head.

_“It’ll kill you. Consume you whole. All at once,”_

_“And I should care about that?”_

_“Of course you should care, Yamada. Are you really ready to die for him? From him? From his inevitable rejection? Choking on flowers and blood and leaving a lifeless body behind?”_

_“At least I would’ve tried!”_

In a blur of movements, he knocks on the door, and the sound breaks him out of his reverie.

When Yuto doesn’t answer immediately, he tries another set of knocks. And when there was still no answer, he tried turning on the nob, surprised to see the door wasn’t locked.

He lets himself in, closing the door behind as he swallows his heart down his throat.

“Yuto?” he calls out, the boy’s name on his lips already making him want to spit out light blue flowers. “Yuto, are you home?” he tries again, moving further in the spacious dorm room, a place he was all too familiar with.

Furrowing his eyebrows, he hears a commotion at the other end of the room, and he’s in Yuto’s place too many times to know that it came from the direction of his bathroom. “Yuto?” he tries again, hoping the taller boy hears him this time, “Are things okay?”

Yamada starts a steady walk towards where the sound was coming from, past Yuto’s bedroom, towards the slightly ajar bathroom door. He would’ve knocked, he _should’ve_ knocked, but his mind was too cloudy and the room smells so much like Yuto it had made him want to throw up a billion forget-me-nots, and he couldn’t concentrate. Also because there was…something else. Another strong smell. A different one. _Flowers_.

He hears the sounds coming from the bathroom. And _no, this can’t be, this isn’t possible_.

When he sees the image in front of him, Yamada is stunned. His mouth goes dry, and if light blue flowers were threatening to fall out moments ago, they had temporarily halted now. Because.

Roses. Blood. The beautiful boy he was in love with looking weak and vulnerable and raw and _tired_. Tears fall from his eyes as he leans his head on the bathroom wall, legs folded, arms resting on his knees. He looked… _defeated_. Far from the Yuto that Yamada usually saw. Far from the bright boy with the light in his eyes and sunshine for a smile. Far from awe and grace and all kinds of beautiful in each and every angle.

“Yuto…” Yamada says in a voice so _low_ , Yuto almost didn’t catch it. The taller boy would’ve whipped his head towards the source, except he was just _so exhausted_ he couldn’t bring himself to be shocked.

So he just chuckles weakly, a pathetic sound on an otherwise confident boy. Usually confident, at least. Now, Yamada thinks, he just looks so… _broken_. And somehow, lost.

“Y-you,” Yuto stutters, the sick and sad smile on his lips breaking Yamada’s heartstrings, “Of course it had to be _you_ who found me like this.”

Yamada gulps down the taste of flowers and blood, gathering enough courage to speak, “Y-Yuto, what’s going on?”

“ _Huh_ ,” Yuto ignores his question, breathing in and out, looking similar to when Yamada tried to calm himself so he doesn’t throw up. “Do you know the worst part about throwing up roses?” he looks at Yamada with so much disdain, an ice cold pain in his eyes that makes the older boy feel even more painful. He shakes his head a no, tries to hold himself together.

“The stupid _thorns_ ,” and it had just hit Yamada how so much more painful that felt like. Forget-me-nots were soft flowers and yet they already cause a great amount. But roses had thorns that prick deep. He couldn’t fathom how much hurt that had caused. So, his heart breaks even more.

“I don’t _care_ how good the petals smell, and how good they taste. The thorns fuck me right up, you know what I mean?”

Yamada didn’t know what to say, so he let Yuto keep talking.

“It was freshman year. I was stupid and naïve and a goddamn idiot, is what I was. And you were there, looking all pretty and attractive,” Yuto coughs out rose petals, spitting out thorns after, the blood dripping from the side of his lips.

“Then we make small talk. And the small talk evolved. I mean, what are the odds of us being in the same flower shop? Picking out something for your sister while I pick out something for my Mom. Fate has a way of playing with people,” he hangs his head low, trying to even his breathing.

“Then I had to go ahead and give you a rose. A single stem. That you hesitatingly accepted but still accepted anyway. Why did I have to _fucking_ pick a rose with stupid thorns? I could’ve gone for a tulip, or a goddamn sunflower, Jesus Christ, why did I choose a _fucking rose_?” he coughs out more petals, spits out more thorns. Yamada couldn’t imagine how painful that must’ve felt like.

“I ran home that day,”

_Wait._

_This couldn’t be._

“I had to. There was this…feeling inside my chest. A fluttering. I thought it was butterflies, at first, but it kept growing in intensity, so I knew it wasn’t that,”

_This wasn’t possible. That’s not what this was. How could that even happen?_

“Then when I reached the bathroom, guess what?”

_No, no, no. This isn’t what he thought it was. It couldn’t be._

“Roses. Puking, vomiting, and throwing up _fucking roses_. Complete with thorns and blood and a hurt in my chest so painful, I thought I was gonna die then and there,” he bitterly laughs, “Dying would’ve been less painful, now that I think about it.”

Yamada wanted to say something, but his voice was caught in his throat.

“And I know what that meant. The flowers. And just…” he cries out loud, a desperate and pleading and painful sound that shatters Yamada’s heart, pairing it with eyes that look so _hollow_ , “Why, Ryosuke? Why couldn’t you just love me, then? Why can’t you just love me, now?”

Yuto tears his gaze away from Yamada, gathering back his senses. “But yea. It happened to my friend once, before he…” a tear falls from his eye, Yuto vigorously wiping it away, smearing the blood on his lip along the way, “Anyway. I had to live with it after all. I had to endure it for _three fucking years_. I’m actually surprised I lived this long. I kept waiting for it to take me. _Consume_ me. Just so it would end already, you know? But it just didn’t come. Not any time soon, at least. And I’m _tired_.”

Yuto continues talking, his tone feeling more bitter and angry, but also sad and hurt. Yamada doesn’t know what to make of it.

“But don’t get me wrong, I knew what would happen too, if I tried to get rid of it. Like hell was I going to risk _that_.”

With a deep breath, Yamada finally gathers the will to speak, “Why not?” he says quietly, still stunned and wondering why Yuto didn’t just go through with it. “We just met. I didn’t mean a lot to you then. I was—”

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” Yuto counters, looking at him with determination, “I mean, _fuck_ , I literally just met you. Why would I wanna forget about you?”

“Why _not_?” Yamada raises his voice, angry.

“Because you captured my oh-so fucking fragile heart, Yamada Ryosuke. Even if—” _I didn’t capture yours_ was what Yuto meant to say, but a surge of roses and thorns and blood had climbed up his throat from the sudden confession, and he ended up vomiting the flowers and liquid and words into his toilet bowl, instead.

“And now, I get _this_ ,” Yuto holds out his arm, gesturing to the mess on his bathroom floor and the mess that he was. “Nakajima Yuto, stuck on some _stupid disease_. You think me so beautiful, huh, Ryosuke? You always see me as confident, and strong, and goddamn beautiful. Well, _look at me now_! A fucked up mess! All because I had to go into a fucking flower shop and give a boy a stupid fucking rose. _This_ is what I get? For having feelings? This _torture_?”

Yamada looked away, not wanting to see any more of Yuto’s pain. He cries, mind too hazy.

“But anyway, I made a choice not to get rid of it. So boo-fucking-hoo for me. _God_ , I just wish it would swallow me whole already, I’m so sick of it, and this, and _everything_ ,”

For some reason, Yamada feels utterly defeated. He shouldn’t, realizing what this—Yuto coughing up roses because of him—had meant. But seeing Yuto hurt had hurt him, as well. Especially knowing how long the younger boy had to endure it. And the _he_ was the cause of it.

He knows why Yuto was saying the words he was saying now. He _understands_.

Taking a deep breath, Yamada settles himself beside the taller boy, sitting on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. He didn’t sit too close, still afraid of the heady air surrounding the atmosphere. The smell of roses and Yuto’s blood fresh from the confines of his mouth had broken Yamada’s heart more than he expected to.

With a sad look on his face, he speaks.

“Do you know what forget-me-nots taste like?”

Confused, Yuto was too tired to turn his head towards Yamada, but he asks still, “What?”

Yamada bites on his bottom lip, trying to find the right words, “They taste sweet. Sometimes _too_ sweet. But they’re not all bad. Except when they mix in with the blood, they taste _horrible_.”

Yuto’s confusion grows, but he doesn’t move closer to Yamada, still. He keeps his distance, afraid of roses and blood and his heart breaking.

“When I was kid, some would grow near our place. I would always pick them and my Mom would scold me and say, ‘We don’t pick beautiful flowers.’ I would listen, for a while. Then I would do it all again. Because I liked the beautiful ones. Always the beautiful ones,”

“Ryosuke, why are you telling me this?” Yuto asks in a defeated voice, and it makes Yamada keep going.

“Because…a month ago, was when it started. When you asked for that power nap, and we were lying down on the bed, and you said…” he gulps, “Do you remember what you said?”

Yuto did. Very much so. But he let Yamada repeat his words, wanting to listen to them.

“You said, ‘I wish we could stay like this, Ryosuke.’ And trust me when I say I wanted that too,” Yamada took a deep breath. “I wanted it _so much_ and _so bad_ it was insane. I realized then that I’ve always wanted more with you, Yuto. A life with you, a future with you, a…forever. With you. I wanted all of that. And more.”

Yuto was crying, he was crying so much, hearing those words come out of this beautiful boy’s mouth. This beautiful boy who owns his heart and his entire self. He keeps listening.

“But all of that? That feeling? That strong feeling? All of that came rushing to me. Towards me. Hard, all at once. It was overwhelming, to say the least. Breathtaking is an understatement. All because you asked me to take a power nap with you in the middle of studying Basic Algebra, can you believe something so ridiculous?” Yamada chuckles weakly, but Yuto understands. He understands everything.

“And when I had reached the bathroom, there they were. Forget-me-nots. Sweet forget-me-nots, looking all pretty in light blue. Mixed in with blood red and they tasted _so horrible_ it made me want to just keep throwing them up,”

Yamada sees Yuto turn his head towards him, and he wanted to look too, but he didn’t know if he could bare to say these words while staring into Yuto’s eyes, yet.

“That day in the flower shop…” Yamada starts again, and Yuto fights the urge to throw up roses and thorns and blood, “I saw you enter. I was there before you, remember?”

The taller boy nods slowly, Yamada can spot in his peripheral vision. “You were walking across the aisle next to mine, and when I stopped and picked out some flowers on display on the shelf, our eyes met and—” all the details came rushing back into Yamada’s mind, gulping down a rising feeling in his throat.

“Forget-me-nots,” Yuto says quietly, putting two and two together.

Yamada finally looks at him, and their eyes meet, much like that day. “What?”

“They were forget-me-nots,” the words were a slur in Yuto’s mouth, but he knows what this means now, and he clings to every single inch of hope he could muster. Hope that he was on the right track, “The flowers you took before we saw each other. I remember them being small. And light blue.”

Yamada’s heart soars.

“Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Why?”

“Because I could never forget you, Yuto. Nor would I want to. Mother always said we don’t pick beautiful flowers. And I never listened to her. I picked the most beautiful one. And look what it caused me,”

“Is that why—”

“I knew what throwing up flowers meant. And I hid it because I know that if you know, it would cause a rift between us. And I couldn’t bear to lose you, Yuto. Not like that. Not ever. And I just—” Yamada’s words drown in sobs, a river of tears falling from his eyes, a desperate plea in his voice. It breaks Yuto’s heart in the best possible way. “I found out what it did to you if you got rejected. That it would consume you whole. And I was…afraid of that. Not of dying, I was always ready to die,” Yamada laughs bitterly, “I was more afraid of the inevitable truth. That you didn’t love me the same way I did you. I was scared.”

The silence consumes them, for a while. Both too afraid to speak after that. A knowing realization floating in the air. Neither of them knowing what to make of it.

When Yuto finally plucks up the courage, he thinks of the most fitting words to say.

“Roses taste rich and lush and regal,” he starts, “Mixed in with blood, they taste like a _nightmare_. I always wondered how something so beautiful could disgust me so much. And don’t get me started with the thorns. They ached so much, I didn’t know something could be so _painful_. I’m sick of the taste of roses.”

Yamada hears Yuto take a deep breath. But it sounded different this time. Like everything that had ever happened was riding on what he was going to say next.

“Would it…” Yuto hesitates.

But it was all or nothing. If not now, then when?

“Would it be okay if you showed me how forget-me-nots taste like?”

Yamada’s breath hitches, the two of them staring at each other, Yuto’s words carrying a heavy meaning to them that he knows could change everything. Could help them with the pain. Could _save_ them from further hurt.

Afraid his voice was going to crack, he nods slowly.

Yuto never takes his eyes off Yamada. Not when he had moved carefully, forcing himself to stand up on two feet. Not when he had held a hand out to Yamada, and Yamada takes it, getting up while his heart flutters in his chest, lacing their fingers together as their skin burns into each other’s touch. Not when he was standing a foot taller, Yamada looking up at him while he had looked down, looking raw and broken but _so beautiful_.

Not when he had caressed Yamada’s cheek with a gentle touch, still so afraid he was going to break the boy he was so desperately in love with. Not when Yamada had leaned into his palm, a comfort and an ignition all at the same time.

Not when Yamada had whispered an, “ _I’m so sorry_ ,” and he whispers an apology right back. Not when he had leaned down, and even still, Yamada had to stand on his tip toes.

Yuto takes another deep breath.

_“No more flowers_ ,” he whispers, an inch away.

And then it starts off slow.

Like a build-up of _waiting_ and _wanting_ and _finally_. Their lips crash together in a glorious display of affection, and Yuto tastes it then. Forget-me-nots so _sweet_ it could break all of this teeth, the way they must have broken Yamada’s heart. But Yamada could taste it, too. Lush roses, deep red and seductive, almost lovely if not for the thorns that accompany them.

But as the kiss continues, and lips and tongues dance together in perfect harmony, the flowers wither. Yuto and Yamada feel out of breath from the kiss, stealing from each other’s lungs, but also because the flowers had slowly disappeared. Died away, hacking up the roots planted in both hearts and lungs and ribcages, and it was so painful but also _such a relief_. Slowly, the taste of forget-me-nots and roses and blood fade away into obscurity. And the sweetness Yuto could get a hint of earlier was replaced with the intoxicating taste of something else. Of someone. Of the boy he was so irrevocably in love with, of the one who had owned his heart all this time. Of Yamada. Wholly, purely, genuinely, sincerely. And he couldn’t get enough of the taste.

His arms had moved to their own accord, a desperate cry leaving both their mouths, out of relief this time instead of sadness. Yuto wraps strong arms around Yamada’s waist, the older boy lacing his fingers through jet-black hair, both pulling each other closer as if the years had kept them apart, even if it was not so. They had never been closer, in their years of friendship. And yet, they had felt like they were worlds apart, stuck in an idea that neither had acted on. That both were afraid to ask if true.

“ _I’m so in love with you, Ryosuke,_ ” Yuto says onto the kiss, and Yamada cries out loud because _finally_. The flowers inside his chest disappear completely, leaving no trace behind. _Finally_ , he knew. That Yuto loved him back. With his whole heart, and his whole self.

“ _Yuto,_ ” Yamada says between a sob and a kiss, and Yuto just wants to forget about everything else in the world. Everything, except the boy in his arms and the way he makes him feel.

“ _Yuto, I am so in love with you,_ ” Yamada grabs him tighter, pulls him closer, and Yuto could almost feel the last petal of a red rose die inside his chest, as his heart kick starts back to life. Finally, finally, _finally_.

He tightens his hold on Yamada, kissing him with all the emotions he could muster. It had felt like the forever that they had always longed for. Always hoped for. They kiss each other again, thankful for the absent taste of forget-me-nots and roses. Thankful for the taste of each other’s lips. Thankful for the realization of a reciprocation.

And with another kiss, they taste forever. Maybe—hopefully—that was enough.

_No more flowers_.


End file.
